


O death, where is thy fucking sting?

by momoejaku



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momoejaku/pseuds/momoejaku
Summary: Prompt from anon on tumblr: "What if Bruce had made it in time--after the Joker left Jason broken in that building, but before the explosion happened? What if he saved his son from that explosion, would it still have been too late?"





	O death, where is thy fucking sting?

The roar of engines filled Bruce’s ringing ears as he urged the batmobile across the dusty desert sands. Warning lights flashed across his vision in a searing, artificial red, an automated voice warning him that he was at maximum speed capacity, and that the engine would give out soon if he wasn’t careful. 

He ignored it. 

Instead, he gritted his teeth, bracing himself as the car flew over one of the large dunes, crashing down violently to the valley below. The engine began to shriek in protest, the entire compartment growing hot as functions broke down and gears ceased to cooperate.

Still, he pushed the machine onward. 

The warehouse loomed out of the horizon, a skeletal, man-made eyesore, and Bruce felt his heart lurch at the sight of it. His every other thought giving way to the only one that mattered in this moment, beating fast in his chest with urgency:

_ Please, god… don’t let me be too late.  _

Bruce gritted his teeth and killed the thought with pain, gloved hands clenching the steering wheel in a death-grip before he yanked it roughly to the left. The car wheels spun wildly as he slammed down on the brakes, coming to a rest a few feet away from the building. 

Batman was out of it in a second, rushing towards the door and scowling when he found it locked. Without a moment’s hesitation, he kicked the door in.

His eyes settled on the body of Robin, still and lying in the middle of the grimy warehouse floor, the image instantly searing itself into his mind with sickening clarity. 

The torn uniform of red, green and yellow. Black hair brushed across his bruised and bashed face. Legs turned in an awkward position.

_ Broken. _

He looked down at the blood that pooled around the tip of his boots, and suddenly… his mind was empty. A blank white blur of numbing snow in the middle of a desert. 

Bruce forced himself to meet the shocked gaze of Jason’s biological mother from across the room, tied up to a post and struggling against her bonds. He saw her lips moving, her eyes desperate and wide, but he could not hear her. 

Sick with fear and anger, he willed himself to latch onto her words. 

‘There’s a bomb!’ Sheila Haywood’s sharp voice cut through his subconscious, wavering in panic as she gestured wildly with her head towards the ticking apparatus sat in the corner of the warehouse. 

The sight of the timer counting down to zero coaxed Bruce back into reality.

There was no time. 

Stalking past the unconscious boy, Batman untied Sheila. 

She rubbed her wrists nervously and watched as he returned to check Jason’s pulse, his face dark and shadowed. 

‘Get in the car,’ he told her gruffly, not turning around, cradling Jason’s limp body in his arms. 

‘M-my supplies are…’ Sheila began weakly, staring at the visible gash in Jason’s forehead. 

Batman glared up at her, eyes burning with cold, menacing wrath. 

_ ‘Get in the damn car, Sheila.’   _

She shut her mouth and ran for the door. 

Bruce hefted Jason’s body up over his shoulder and followed after her, heart filled with sinking dread as the metallic smell of blood filled his nose. 

Jason’s blood. 

His son’s blood.

He forced himself to count his steps, boots trudging through the sand and leaving heavy prints in their wake until he reached the batmobile.

‘Engine start,’ he snapped, and the car engine roared to life. He brought Jason down into his arms and addressed Sheila. ‘Hold him. Keep his head upright.’ 

She hesitated, as if she were scared to touch her own flesh and blood, as if he would burn her, but nodded and accepted him, holding his body against her hers. Her mouth set in a thin line, she stared at the wounds on Jason’s bruise-mottled skin while the Batman jumped into the driver’s seat. 

Bruce revved the engine, and they sped off into the stretching distance. Sweat dripping down his face, lips counting down seconds until the explosion shook the desert in a violent eruption of flames, tossing all three forward in their seats.

Sheila cried out and Batman’s arm went out instinctively, trying to protect Jason’s head from hitting against the dashboard. His other hand clutched the steering wheel, muscles flexing, gritting his teeth as he fought to regain control of the batmobile. 

The armoured car took the heat and pressure from the blast wave well, and they skimmed across the sands, coming to a stop, and Sheila gaped up at the fiery pillar of smoke and ash that was now reaching up towards the starry sky, blotting it out. They sat there for a long moment, the man dressed as a bat and the woman holding a dying boy, staring at the deafening silence that followed.

‘Is he breathing?’ Bruce said abruptly, rallying himself rummaging in one of the compartments for a first aid kit.

Sheila blinked, taking a moment to register his question before putting a hand to Jason’s lips then checked his pulse, her face growing pale.

‘No… no he isn’t,’ she said, seemingly regaining some sense of mental clarity and opening the passenger door. ‘We need to perform CPR now.’

Sheila struggled out of the car and lay Jason down on the desert floor, leaning over him as if she meant to administer it, but suddenly Batman was there beside her. He took a hold of her arm roughly and pulled her away from Jason. 

Ignoring her confusion and scarlet-faced ire at being man-handled, he knelt down, rhythmically applying pressure to Jason’s chest and giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It didn’t matter that she was the doctor, Bruce wasn’t letting her anywhere near Jason. Not if he could help it. 

After trying several times, Jason suddenly came to, coughing up blood and bile and moaning in pain.  He blinked up at Bruce, his eyebrows knit together in pain and uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure it was him.

‘Batman…?’ he ventured tentatively, his voice weak.

‘I’m here, Jason,’ he said, tears of anger and sorrow for his son’s pain burning in his eyes as he stroked his hair. ‘I’ve got you.’

Jason’s breathing was rough. His face contorted against the pain, he strained, fighting for every breath, chest rising and falling, trembling. Bruce clenched his jaw, listening to the rattling in Jason’s lungs. He set him down against the sand again, reaching down to undo Jason’s bloody shirt and opened it to reveal the blackened contusion spread like a disease against his chest. 

He froze, staring at it, unable to keep the worry out of his expression. Beside him, Sheila sucked in her breath.    

‘It… hurts. As… as bad as it… looks,’ Jason said in between rasping breaths. His eyes looked glazed over, unfocused as they stared up at the starry expanse above them, constellations reflected into brokenness. He was still, calm, as if accepting the pain, accepting whatever little time it seemed he had.  

And Bruce knew it would take a miracle for even the doctors to save him now. But he refused to let his son go. 

He felt his stomach clench, roiling with anger as he became aware of Sheila’s presence hovering beside them.

‘Go wait in the car,’ he ordered her, unravelling a long strip of gauze and bandaging the gash across Jason’s head. ‘We’re taking him to the nearest medical facility.’

She looked at him in surprise, eyes wide with disbelief.

‘As a doctor, I can tell you right now there’s little point in trying to get him to a facility,’ Sheila hissed beside Batman, making little attempt to keep her voice low. ‘Not with those wounds. He won’t make it.’

One look was all it took. She cowered under his cold, empty stare and retreated back to the car without another word, her eyes lingering on Jason, filled with shame as she tried to wipe rusted, dry blood off of her hands. 

‘She’s… she’s right, you know,’ Jason managed with weary heaviness, listening to his biological mother’s footsteps fading away into the sand dunes.

Bruce waited until she was back in the car before tugging the cowl off of his head. He took Jason’s face in his hands, looked into the deep, russet-brown of his eyes. 

‘Jason,’ he said, his voice breaking even as the name left his lips, bringing Jason’s gaze back from the dark sky, locking eyes with him. ‘I won’t let you die.’

‘Bruce…’ Jason blinked up at him, straining, struggling to latch on to the words, to understand their meaning.  ‘I don’t think that’s up to you or me. I – I don’t think, I can…’

‘No,’ Bruce cut in, fierce and fervent. ‘ _ No. _ You’re going to live through this, son. Do you hear me? You will not die. You will  _ live _ .’

Jason pondered his words sadly, knowing that arguing with Bruce, even about the inevitability of death was futile.

‘What’s that verse Alfie always quotes…’ he said instead, a fond nostalgic glimmer brightening his eyes. ‘“O death _ … O death, where is thy fucking sting? _ ”’

And Bruce chuckled, even as the tears streamed down his cheeks, falling on Jason’s chest and mixing blood with salt-water, hand pressed against the wounds, praying, pleading, urging the bleeding to stop. 

A small smile graced the corner of Jason’s burst lip before fading, his face spasming with sudden fear. 

‘I don’t want to die, Bruce,’ he said quietly. 

The desert sands whipped around them as Bruce took his son in his arms and lifted him up, walking back towards the batmobile. The sun rose in a blinding golden haze across the horizon and bathed Jason’s beaten face in warmth. And in that moment, a shared calmness and filled them both as they dared to hope.

Bruce pressed his lips against the matted top of Jason’s crown of hair and closed his eyes in silent intercession. 

Defying death.

Willing his son to live.

‘ _“_ O grave,’ he murmured. ‘ _Where is thy fucking victory?”_ ’


End file.
